


Touch Starved

by CondemnedFlame



Series: Sabo Ace Week 2018 [1]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Ace doesn't like people touching him, Ace is also really bad at dealing with emotions though, Fluff and Angst, Growing Up Together, Light Angst, M/M, Sabo is the exception apparently, go figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-03-30 17:07:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13956162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CondemnedFlame/pseuds/CondemnedFlame
Summary: Sabo, for whatever reason, didn’t want to touch him.Which was fine. He wasn’t bothered by that. He wasn’t. It was just… a little confusing, that’s all.





	Touch Starved

Contact was… weird. That was the only word that really seemed to describe it at all, that innate feeling of  _ discomfort _ that rose when exposed to something one had gone the majority of their life without. Not to say that it was bad necessarily, nor entirely unwelcome, yet Ace couldn’t help but shy away from it after so long, so many years filled with only his own company, his own space. People didn’t touch him because no one ever got close enough, and those that did… Well, they didn’t  _ want _ to. And he was fine with that. He was used to that. 

At first, it seemed as if Sabo was the same. 

He was brash and outspoken, LOUD in a way Ace wasn’t accustomed to, even amongst bandits. Every movement was made with a particular flair, embellished within the odd twisting of his wrists, the dance of fingers through the air like a meister directing an orchestra whenever he launched into a particular topic of interest, emotions painted across his features, always flickering from one to another. Bright and warm, as if an extension of the sun itself, Ace was drawn towards him from the start, hopelessly lost within the energy that radiated off of him. 

And yet, for all his appearances, for every animated gesture and exclamation of joy, Sabo never drew any closer than perhaps a foot of distance between them. 

It was as if there was a wall between them, and after months within the other’s company, Ace could no longer blame the crumbling remains of his own hesitation and restraint for the physical distance that stretched out between them. 

Sabo, for whatever reason, didn’t want to touch him. 

Which was fine. He wasn’t bothered by that. He  _ wasn’t _ . It was just… a little confusing, that’s all. 

Everything Sabo did pointed to a companionship of sorts between them, and even if at first it was based off of a mutual reliance upon each other—Sabo for survival and Ace for company—the first time Ace had reached out his hand in order to help the other up after a particularly rough fall, he had flinched, as if expecting further harm. Mixed signals given a moment later Sabo’s hand was within his own. And it was soft, terribly soft and warm compared to his own calloused hands, beaten with the burden of survival—even at five years old. The contact was brief, lasting only long enough to pull the other to his feet before he tore his hand away again. Even still, it left a tingling sensation behind, prickles of awareness that crept along his skin like little jolts of electricity, the heat of Sabo’s eyes on his back afterwards more potent than usual. 

He wiped his hand off on his pants and didn’t turn back. 

After that… things  _ changed _ .

It was gradual, something Ace wouldn’t have noticed at all had he not paid such close attention to the other, but slowly that gap of a foot between them lessened. Sabo stepped into his space more often now, occasionally close enough where they would brush against each other while walking. When they sat, their knees might brush. Whispered words at night were closer, close enough to feel the breath of them against his skin. They were warm in the way dawn was, the soft hesitant light of a new day. Ace would never admit how tempted he was to lean in closer. 

It was more than that though, more than some  _ happy accident _ . That was painfully obvious the first time Sabo had reached out and skimmed knuckles across his hand, as if in invitation. 

Ace jolted at the touch, jerking his hand back as if it had been scalded, eyes blown wide with startled confusion. When he took half a step back, stretching the chasm between them into reality, the blue of Sabo’s eyes mirrored his own, however briefly. And then silver hues narrowed and turned to ice. 

“Don’t touch me.”

Sabo, in that moment, recoiled back as if he had been struck. There was pain there, despondent in the way his eyes flashed and his expression crumpled, hand drawn inwards to cradle at his chest. Everything about the boy visibly  _ shrunk _ , shoulders hunched inwards, gaze downcast. When the apology tumbled from his lips, broken and so very  _ quiet _ , something in Ace shattered. Lips pressed thin, expression faltering, he turned his back and walked away. He ignored the way his chest ached. He ignored how Sabo hesitated longer than normal before following after him again too. 

That day, he hated himself just a little more than usual. 

Just like that though, it was back to the way things had been before. Only this time, it was worse

The gap between them was larger than ever and it  _ taunted _ him now in a way it hadn’t before. Laughing at him. Echoing thoughts he already had. He didn’t need them, didn’t need the  _ space _ to know that it was his fault, that he had messed up. 

Those first few days Sabo didn’t even look at him. He was there,  _ always _ , but he was quiet and detached. Instead of walking side by side, he lagged behind now. The constant chatter was gone, replaced with murmuring and nothing more. When he caught the occasional looks sent his way they were either soft and confused in the way an unspoken question was, or frozen resolve. Ace found that he didn’t like  _ either _ of them. 

Even after that seemed to fade and return to something akin to  _ normal _ , the fissure between them remained. More apparent than ever. There wasn’t any ‘accidental touching’ anymore. In fact, Sabo seemed intent on securing his own personal space, moving back whenever Ace did forward, always maintaining that same amount of distance. 

He hated it. 

More than that, he hated that it was his fault. It was obvious that he was hesitant to draw close, an anxiety apparent whenever Ace moved to close that gap, visible in the spasm of pale fingers, illuminated in widened eyes and the way he stepped away in a rush, almost tripping backwards over his feet. To get away from Ace. 

His fault. His words. His actions. 

And he didn’t know how to  _ fix _ it. Didn’t even realize that he wanted to until his own hand was outstretched towards the blond’s back, hanging suspended in the empty air between them. It would be easy to take just one more step forward, to chase away the tension lined in Sabo’s shoulders with the tips of his fingers. He wanted to suddenly,  _ desperately _ , know what it would be like to press their hands together, or feel the texture of his hair—so unlike his own disorganized mess of tangled waves. This feeling of isolation, whether natural or forced—he was sick of it. He was sick of the looks the villagers cast him, the way Dadan and the rest of the bandits kept him at a distance and whispered hated words in a tone he wasn’t supposed to overhear ( but did anyway ).

Sabo wasn’t like that. He  _ wasn’t _ . Maybe he was a little odd and his clothing a tad bit too fine, his manner of speech far too  _ polite _ , but he was kind and considerate. He cared. Or at least Ace felt that he did, and that was enough for him. It was  _ supposed _ to be enough for him. 

His hand fell away a second before Sabo’s gaze turned towards him once more, the boy’s smile blindingly bright, crooked to one side with a mischievous twinkle that shone in eyes the color of the sky. There was an ache in Ace’s chest, his own smile ever so slightly forced when his hand rose to rub at the space over his heart. The feeling didn’t go away. 

Over the next few days, it only grew worse. That ache deepened into an insistent yearning, whispers clamoring about in the back of his mind, overlapping with unspoken words. He woke up earlier in the morning just so that he could make his trek through the forest faster, lengthen the time spent besides Sabo late into the night. He spoke more, or tried to. It was still easier to just listen sometimes. Most importantly, every day he pushed himself just a little bit closer, even if only by a fraction of an inch. After a while Sabo stopped moving further away, and Ace counted whatever small victories he could. They were few, but each day, each week that passed, their numbers grew. 

Still, he had not apologized. Ace didn’t know how to, at least not verbally. 

Two weeks after  _ The Incident _ , Ace turned to Makino for advice. She was the only one in the village that didn’t look away when he stepped past, the only one that not only looked at him, but also  _ listened _ . He liked that about her—and the way she always seemed to ‘conveniently’ have spare clothes for him, and snacks. 

Cracker hanging from the end of his lips, his feet swung off the edge of the bar stool, keeping time with the music that drifted in from somewhere outside Party’s Bar while he watched Makino wipe down the bar. Coming here today had been a last minute decision, one that he didn’t even recognize that he had made until he was climbing through the mountains instead of the forest in the direction of Grey Terminal, as he did every other morning. It had taken the entirety of the morning to even get here, and now that he was, he was was lost, drowning in the troubled thoughts that deafened everything else around him. Makino, evidently, sensed as much.

“You’re rather quiet today Ace,” she spoke gently. “Is there something bothering you?”

He startled at her voice, biting down on his cracker only to have a portion snap and fall away. It bounced off the floor and disappeared somewhere out of sight. Swallowing what remained, silver eyes scanned over the floor anxiously, avoiding her eyes. His hands dropped from the bar, curling into the new fabric of his shirt. Wincing at the thought of wrinkles, he smoothed it out again, fingers fumbling with the edge. 

She wasn’t supposed to notice so easily. He thought he was hiding it, taking his time to sort through the tangle of his problems in silence that stretched too long. What was he supposed to say? What was he supposed to  _ do _ in a situation like this where he needed help but didn’t know how to ask for it? He had never told anyone about Sabo before. No one ever asked where he went all day so it didn’t matter, but now—

“I made a friend.” 

A laugh rose and he flinched at the sound, already regretting his rushed words, but it wasn’t condescending or harsh. It was soft, amused even. There was a rustle of cloth when Makino leaned forward, her folded arms on the bar just barely within Ace’s line of sight. “Well, that’s good news, isn’t it? I’m glad.” 

He could hear the smile in her voice and it was what drew his eyes upwards again, eyes startled wide and a heat creeping up his neck to his cheeks. Embarrassed. 

Was it a good thing? If Makino thought so then it was probably true. Normal people were supposed to have friends after all, people to talk to, to rely on, to share their time with. That’s what Sabo was, right? Last night he had struggled to come up with a different word that fit, but nothing had resonated as much as that. Friend felt  _ right _ . Sabo was his friend. Had been at least. Was he still now? He didn’t know but the thought of losing him HURT. It had taken so long to find him, to find someone that actually liked being around him— _ needed _ him. He didn’t want to lose that. Lose him. 

There was nothing to swallow anymore, but he did so anyway, tongue darting out to wet his dry lips when he looked away again, face scrunched up in frustration. Sabo’s expression flashed through his mind again, pain and hurt muting what should have been bright eyes, making them dull, lifeless. 

“M’be, yeah. I think I… I think I ruined it though.” The ache was back and he rubbed at his chest again, scowling to himself. “I… I didn’t  _ mean _ to, but he did somethin’, and I yelled at him, and now he won’t—he won’t…” Clicking his tongue, he curled his hands into his shorts this time. They were old, worn down and a little too small for him now, scuffed with dirt in places. He could ruin these. He was good at ruining things. Especially when they were new, and bright, and soft.

“I don’t know how to fix it,” he murmured aloud, voice a whisper. 

Ace didn’t see her move, didn’t even know that she  _ had _ , but a moment later there were hands on his own, soft and so painfully  _ gentle _ when Makino moved to pry his hands away from his pants and cradle them in her own. He wanted to pull back, wanted to jerk away, but he didn’t. That didn’t stop him from stiffening though, eyes boring back into her own. 

“People make mistakes, Ace. It’s  _ normal _ for misunderstandings to happen. No one’s perfect after all,” she laughed. Her thumbs brushed over his knuckles and Ace didn’t know how to feel about it, didn’t know how to respond. Thankfully, she kept talking and saved him the words. “I don’t know what happened between you two, but friendships aren’t such a fragile thing. Have you tried talking to them yet?”

He gaped, eyes wide when he shook his head slowly in response.

Her smile was a flower in bloom and it was almost painful to look at. Ace wasn’t used to such expressions cast his way. 

“Well, best to start with that then, hm?”

Dumbly he nodded, but it wasn’t until her hands fell away from his own and she was almost behind the bar again that he turned towards her once more, tiny hands curled into fists when they rest on the bar counter and he leaned forward. “What if I can’t though? Talk to him—I mean. I don’t… ‘M not good at that whole thing. I haven’t even…” he groaned, curling forward, chin rest atop his fists. “I don’t know how to  _ apologize. _ ”

“Sometimes, actions can be louder than words.” Her expression was whimsical, tender when her eyes turned towards the entrance to the bar, as if waiting for someone to walk inside. 

Ace watched her a moment before hopping off the bar stool, silent when he moved past her and out the door.

It wasn’t until much later, after he returned to the bandit camp under the cover of night, bones tired and soul weary, that he remembered he had promised to meet Sabo that morning. 

Dread pooled in his chest, nearly  _ suffocating _ him with the weight of it. It was too late now to turn back, to venture through the forest. Even if he knew the path by heart, which he did, after dark the jungle beasts became even more active. He was reckless to a fault, but he wasn’t  _ suicidal _ . Even still, he stood there, hand gripped on the door handle of the bandits hideout, his body twisted away, towards the darkness that pressed in from every side. Chewing his lip, left to battle with himself, desire on one end, logic the other, Ace hesitated there, undecided. 

Only when the night air turned harsh and bitingly cold was he forced to turn away, silent when he stepped inside into the stale warmth of a home that was not his own. 

Dadan was there, waiting for him, but he didn’t even glance in her direction, moving instead quickly out of the room to his own bed hidden away in the darkness. 

When he woke up before dawn the next morning, he was out of the building long before any of the mountain bandits woke up, an urgency in every step. He had hardly slept, too overwhelmed by Makino’s advice and a growing concern for Sabo himself. After all, he had never broken any promises with the boy until now. If he promised to be there, he was  _ there _ , often even earlier than planned. But not this time. 

He raced amongst the underbrush, feet slipping on the odd branch, the dew of early morning making the journey more treacherous than normal, eyes left to strain against the darkness of dawn broken up by the wide leaves and tangled branches above his head. It didn’t stop him, nor did it slow his pace. 

By the time he burst out of the dense forest and into the thinner tree line where they always met, he was panting from exertion, eyes wide on the verge of  _ frantic _ when he scoured the treetops for a familiar flash of blond. His chest heaved, sweat collecting along his brow and the back of his neck, spotted under his arms, already ruining his new shirt. He didn’t care. 

Stepping further from the treeline, he cupped his hands around his lips. “Sabo!” His voice bounced off the trees, muffled. “Sabo, I’m back. I didn’t—” 

There was a flash of gold, a shimmer of something bright that the sun caught and magnified, a blur of blue when the boy hurtled around the bend of a larger tree. Ace’s breath caught at the sight. A moment later it  _ whooshed _ out of him when Sabo barreled forward to wrap his arms around his waist. The force, unexpected as it was, knocked Ace off his feet entirely, not even able to stumble back and regain his balance before they were on the floor in a mess of tangled limbs, pain flaring up from his back where they had made contact. He winced, teeth clenched and eyes unfocused. One hand had jutted out behind him to soften the fall and small fragments of rock and discarded bark had dug into the skin. 

All of these were distractions, derailing his attention for a second, a fragment of a time before everything else registered. 

Sabo’s arms were still wrapped around him with a desperate force, grip tight enough to make breathing difficult. Not that any of that mattered anyway. The  _ instant _ Ace actually registered the contact, he stopped breathing anyway. 

There was a pressure against the side of his head and neck where Sabo had pressed his head into the gap. Hair, golden spun drops of sun, filled the edge of his vision, ticking against his chin and neck. And it was  _ soft _ , softer than he had even imagined. Sabo’s small frame pressed against his own, Ace was painfully aware of every space their bodies touched, of how little air was left between them. It burned. 

There was breath against his neck, as hard as his own had been, but disjointed, fragmented. It took far longer than it should have for Ace to even recognize that Sabo was talking, but once he did, the words washed over him like waves against the cliff side in a storm, choppy and harsh, filling his ears with thunder. 

“—went looking for you. What was I  _ supposed _ to do? You never showed up—and you always show up, and I...I just.” His voice sounded wet and Ace stiffened at the sound. “I was worried. I was—you’re not supposed to—I thought that maybe you...you just  _ left _ and I-I can’t…” 

Sabo pulled back suddenly, arms sliding away from his back though one remained at his shoulder. At this angle, with the boy bent over him, he  _ glowed _ . The sun cast a halo at his back, the sunrise brushed against the sky in an explosion of color, reds and oranges, pastel yellow and purple. And the moisture in his eyes caught every hue and magnified it, silver eyes drawn to the unshed tears that broke over the dam to trace rivers along his cheeks. Ace’s breath returned to him in the form of a startled gasp when Sabo shifted again to wipe away at his face, breaking the still that had overtaken him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t  _ speak _ or even react outside of parted lips and wide eyes.

It also meant that when Sabo swung back that same hand that had wiped away tears and tightened fingers into a fist, Ace didn’t have the state of mind to even  _ flinch _ before pain blossomed in his cheek in the form of a punch. 

His hands flew upwards with a groan, covering over the space he had been hit where his face stung from the impact. “ _ Fuck _ —Sabo, what—”

“No,  **shut up** .”

Ace’s eyes immediately shot to him, hands falling away, pain tossed away as if it was nothing. And compared to the fire that  _ burned _ in Sabo’s eyes, it wasn’t. His expression was set, the evidence of tear streaks overshadowed by the stern line of his lips and the way he  _ trembled _ above him, shoulders shaking and fists now curled into the fabric of Ace’s shirt. 

“You scared me, Ace.” Sabo spoke, voice trembling. “Do you get that? You  _ scared _ me. I thought—I thought something had happened to you. That I wasn’t going to see you again.  _ Ever _ . You can’t just…” He took in a shuddering breath, detangling fingers from cloth to scrub at his face again. “You can’t break your promises, alright? It’s not… It’s not what  _ friends _ do.” 

His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, as if weighted by lead. “We’re friends…?” 

Sabo laughed, but it felt wrong the way it tumbled out of him, strangled as if it sprung to his lips without him wanting it there. “You’re such a— _ damn it Ace _ , yes. What did you think all of this,” he gestured between them “—was? A joke? God, please don’t answer that.”

Ace felt as if the world had turned on its axis all of a sudden, and in a way it had. He was still down on the ground with his back against the earth after all. It was more than that though. The air in his lungs felt tight but there was a lightness to his chest at the same time, as if he had dragged in too much air and now it had collected there, threatening to lift him off his feet and into the sky above. It was one thing to make the connection himself, to admit, even if only in his mind that they were  _ friends _ . To have Sabo say so, out loud, was completely different. 

_ They were friends.  _ Sabo considered him his FRIEND. In that moment, Ace almost believed that he could fly. 

Eyes on Sabo’s face, never looking away, still unable to  _ speak _ , he saw the instant his expression twisted in on itself and those bright eyes darted down away from his own. They widened, pouting lips drawn apart on a soundless ‘  _ oh _ ‘ and then he was moving, scrambling away. Sabo rushed to his feet, tearing himself away and stumbling back a handful of steps and the sudden absence had a hole open up inside of Ace. It was dark and cold, like the absence of heat against him where the other had been, and it  **hurt** more than anything else had up to this point. 

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t  _ thinking _ , and…” Sabo took another step back, clutching at the edge of his fine clothes, color a sharp contrast against his pale face. “I know you don’t like contact, but I just moved without thinking. I’m so-so sorry. I promise I—”

“Sabo.”

“I won’t do it again. I won’t. So just please don’t...don’t.”

“Sabo. It’s  _ fine _ .” Ace spoke louder this time, already sitting up again though he hadn’t moved to stand. “It’s not—I…”

Blue eyes were on him again,  _ boring _ back into him and his breath stuttered a little again, still able to feel the way arms had wrapped around his form, the tingling sensation left behind in the wake of contact. He wanted it again. And he couldn’t have it. Not until he fixed this, whatever  _ this _ was between them. 

_ Sometimes, actions can be louder than words. _

But how was that supposed to help him when he couldn’t even do that, frozen in place as he was, isolated by the distance between them that Sabo had thrown up like an impenetrable wall, a set of armour to protect himself with. And he was watching him, those bright eyes trained on his, waiting. The words shriveled up on his tongue, unable to sort through the storm that had rooted itself in his head to tear the words he needed away. He sat there, dumbstruck, lips parted and eyes imploring, but silent. 

The hope that had illuminated Sabo’s eyes dimmed.

“I’m Gol Roger’s son.” 

“I—what?”

He hadn’t meant to say that.  _ Why did he SAY that? _ That wasn’t going to fix anything. It would make it  _ worse _ . The admittance had just left him though, the only thing he could think of to explain. To explain everything. Why he was the way he was. Why he wasn’t used to contact or companionship or even being around other people. Why he had been so  _ hesitant _ to open up to Sabo. Because eventually he’d find out and then everything would be ruined. 

And yet, for whatever reason, he had told him. Without any warning. 

Their eyes met again, Ace’s silver eyes blown wide with panic, and Sabo’s… he couldn’t read Sabo’s eyes. The boy had stiffened though, life back into his expression, but face unreadable. His lips were parted as if he was getting ready to speak but his brows were furrowed, blue eyes flickering through emotions faster than Ace could keep track, could read. 

“You’re  _ kidding _ , right?”

Ace flinched at Sabo’s tone, at the raw  _ disbelief _ he could hear etched into every word. Terror, gripped at his heart with icy cold fingers, digging in until every limb locked into place. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready for the rejection, the contempt and  _ hatred _ he had seen in the eyes of men and women growing up at even the mention of Roger’s name, at the idea of that  **demon** having a child. This time he had done more than just mess up; he had imploded, self-destruct with no hope of salvation. All because he wanted to explain himself, wanted Sabo to  _ know _ . And now he was going to leave. Ace was going to be alone again, completely and utterly alone, and it was all his fault. 

Whatever Sabo saw in his expression, in his agonized eyes and tight frame, it was enough. Realization washed over his pale features. 

Ace lurched to his feet in one sudden moment, feet unsteady underneath him, eyes cast downward to his feet, to the crumpled grass where he had been, to the shadows stretching across the floor with branches outreached in grasping hands. Anywhere that wasn’t Sabo. 

“P-please don’t freak out. I know—I know it’s weird, but ‘M… I’m still the same, right? It doesn’t matter who my…” His fingers dug into his pants, scratching at the fabric and pressing so hard that he felt each fingerprint like a brand against his skin, the force on the verge of bruising. “Forget I said anything.” 

“You’re serious. Holy—Ace are you  _ kidding _ me, that’s AWESOME!”

Again his attention flew to the other. Sabo’s smile was wide,  _ blinding _ in his excitement. He was also closer than he had been before, but Ace was still getting over that first part. He was  _ smiling _ , expression bright and eyes shining and it was such a contrast to ever other reaction before. Enough to give him whiplash. 

Lips working over silent words of confusion, all he could do was stare when Sabo threw his hands up at his sides, gestures animated, expression lively. Excitement exuded from his very aura and it left Ace stunned. 

“Your dad is the Pirate King! I mean, how cool is that?” Sabo stepped even closer but he didn’t move away, still rooted in spot, the other pouting now. “You should have told me sooner. I told you that I wanted to be a pirate someday. Why didn’t you tell me that you’re already related to the greatest pirate  _ ever? _ That’s not fair. How am I supposed to match up to that?”

He couldn’t breathe again. Couldn’t process what had just happened enough to push past it. He was drowning, unsure what direction to swim to breach for air. His knees buckled suddenly and he was on the ground again, distantly aware of the way Sabo rushed in closer again, worried. A laugh left him and it was breathless, lined with a relief that submerged him completely. 

Somehow, he hadn’t lost him. Ace had managed to find the one person in the universe that knew who he was,  _ what _ he was, and still accepted him, even envied him. Unfathomable. 

“I thought you were going to hate me.”

Sabo scoffed and the noise it made was nearly comical. “Why would I hate you?”

Looking up again at his words, it was impossible to deny the genuine warmth in the other’s expression, in the soft hint of a smile that pulled at the edge of Sabo’s lips. He didn’t hate him. Why?  _ Why _ didn’t he hate him? By all logic, he should despise him, especially after how he had been acting lately, but here he stood, golden and bright. Kind.

Another laugh left him, but this one was pitiful, a sorry attempt at shielding the exposed hurt time had wrought on him. “Everyone else does.”

“Well, that’s stupid.” Sabo said with a frown. “They must not know you like I do.”

“No… I guess not.”

They remained like that, awkwardly staring at each other as the silence stretched out between the shortened space between them. There was hesitance there in the soft lines of Sabo’s face, but it wasn’t until a hand was outstretched between them that Ace understood why. 

An invitation, again.

This time Ace took it. 

Things weren’t resolved yet. Far from it. But it was a step in the right direction, and it was one they took together this time. 

After that it was easier, somehow, to just  _ talk _ , to explain. They both learned things about why Ace wasn’t used to contact, why his father’s lineage left such a scar on his life, but also about Sabo as well. It was vague, the explanation hesitant and obviously filled with gaps, but it was enough for Ace to comprehend why sudden movements would make him flinch. 

Things didn’t change much at first, even after they both  _ understood _ . It was gradual again, a slow change that from the outside, no one would have noticed. For both of them, however, the difference was immense.

Two months after their talk and a narrow escape from one of the larger,  _ hungrier _ beasts that roamed the jungle expanse, Ace outstretched his hand and Sabo took it. They ran for their very lives, but there were smiles on their faces and laughter among the trees. Their intertwined hands swung in the small space between them, and long after the danger was gone, they remained that way. 

They took to spending the night together sometimes, on those rare events where they strayed too far and the walk ‘home’ would take to long, or when the moon shone down upon the treetops, casting twinkling shadows down below like starfire, and Ace simply decided that he’d rather stay and share the moment together. They would climb into the wide reaching branches for shelter and nestle close to the trunk, legs tangled together and heads resting alongside each other. 

When Garp visited and Ace was forced to remain where he was for days without end, trained beyond the limit of his wits, the first place he would run to afterwards was the Grey Terminal where Sabo was waiting for him, arms outstretched. After that first hug so long ago, the rest seemed easy in comparison, a home far warmer and more comforting found there with blond curls on his shoulder and a laugh against his neck than anywhere else. Over time they would last longer and longer, pulling away from the embrace developing into a challenge that would leave them with bright cheeks and nervous laughter. 

Years after their first meeting, long after every wall between them had crumbled to dust, affection became natural, readily available in the small brushed against each other, in outstretched hands and fond smiles that glimmered with joy. 

It wasn’t until later still when Luffy arrived, nagging and stubborn and  _ blunt _ , that the strength of their bond was questioned. 

Experimental and confused, Ace kissed Sabo at sunset with a cliff at their feet and an ocean of possibility stretched out before them both on the horizon. It was short and sweet, little more than a brush against the corner of his lips, but they both turned scarlet, foreheads pressed together with laughter a whisper on the wind. 


End file.
